


Vow of Silence

by silvrhuntress



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvrhuntress/pseuds/silvrhuntress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/171812/chapters/250782">Switch</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Vow of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to [Switch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/171812/chapters/250782).

He was supposed to be emptying his mind.

He was, in fact, _good_ at that. It was peaceful, relaxing, fulfilling in a way that almost nothing else was. He’d dedicated a year of his life to silence. He reaffirmed that dedication every year for a week, sometimes two.

It wasn’t that his life wasn’t compelling - quite the opposite, in fact. But he’d managed to set each piece aside: the wife he loved more than anything in the world, the turn of fortune that had led to Supernatural, the hassle of splitting his time between two cities, the friends he’d made...

And that’s where it all came to a dead stop.

Oh, it wasn’t Sam Winchester. It was _why_ Sam Winchester was suddenly co-starring next to Jensen Ackles, in the role of ‘himself’, complete with makeup artists changing his appearance to be more authentic and directors telling him how ‘he’ should walk and speak and move.

Sam-as-Jared was convincing enough. Granted, it had been a long, hard five months. But he was getting along with Genevieve better than Jared ever had, and he’d managed to build the solid foundation of friendship with Jensen, though Misha knew it would never quite be the same.

No.

It was the little matter of _why_ that was nagging him, a question that kept surfacing on what should have been the tranquility of his mind.

It was Enochian magic that had brought him to this world and sent Jared away. ‘Enochian’ meant ‘angelic interference’, which made perfect sense, since it was Gabriel-as-Loki who’d shown up when Sam had tried to pinpoint the whole reason for his interdimensional transferrence.

But what did Gabriel get out of it? What was his motivation? Why did he even care?

Misha had even gone so far as to watch the previous episodes featuring the Trickster, on the assumption that he wouldn’t have taken Richard’s form if that hadn’t been accurate, but all he’d learned was that the Trickster was damned clever at turning the tables on those who most deserved it. Not very angelic (archangelic?) but... well, very appropriate for Loki, he supposed.

And what was with _that_? Loki was a well-established entity, just like Gabriel, only of an entirely different pantheon. And while he’d heard the theories that all gods were the same, he suspected that a Norse god had about as much in common with an archangel as...

“Not a lot. That was the point. Pretty good, huh?” Gabriel was eating a sucker - a Blow-Pop, actually. His tongue was already blue-raspberry colored, clashing with his burnt orange shirt. He had on an olive jacket with black stitching at the seams that should’ve looked seedy, but instead looked a little... dangerous, like it concealed some deadly weapon. Which, of course it did: the Trickster himself.

He grinned from his far-too-casual position leaning against the porch wall. “You’ve got a lot on your mind for a meditation. Pretty serious stuff, too; good thing we have the brownies to remember, or I’d call you hopeless at fun.”

Misha drew in a breath, smelling the heavy summer rain, the incense, the grass. He stared - which was, after all, understandable - and tried to rationalize that the archangel had shown up _here_ , of all places. Then again, where else would he show up?

Of course, dressed like that, a mall would be appropriate. Probably one with a See’s Candy.

Reflexively, he started to greet Gabriel, figuring that at the very least, he should be _polite_ to an archangel, before it occurred to him that he was supposed to be on a _silent_ retreat.

Did speaking to an archangel actually count as _breaking_ a vow?

He supposed he could always lead Gabriel over to one of the elders who wasn’t under a vow, but... no. _That_ thought was even more unacceptable than breaking his vow.

“You’re a good baker,” he said, his voice Castiel-low after a couple of days of not speaking.

“Aw, thanks. It just comes to me.” Gabriel waved the bright-blue candy vaguely. “Think of it as a _visitation_ if you want. That’ll fit into this whole meditation mind-expansion thing, right? Besides, I’ve done some visitations in my day.” His expression could have meant anything or nothing, but the director - and Richard - had certainly captured the brow-waggle just right.

“All gods aren’t the same,” he added, a little muffled from the sucker. “ _All_ gods aren’t the same, although there are a lot of copycats. No originality left in the world.”

No one here needed to hear this conversation, fascinated as they’d surely be. Misha rose, turning the motion into a stretch, feeling it through his whole body. He gestured out to the grass, silent out of habit, and headed out into the rain, looking back to see if Gabriel was following.

* * *

The first time had taken some _serious_ effort, but each time he’d popped back and forth between worlds it seemed to get easier. Blazing a trail or something. Normally Gabriel would have just listened - such intent, focused thoughts were essentially a prayer, after all - and snickered and moved on, but it wasn’t like he was _doing_ anything. A little bored, actually, and the circle of Misha’s thoughts had caught his attention like a moth beating silently against a windowpane, angling fruitlessly for the candle behind it.

So, here he was. And here he was following, because really, why wouldn’t he? This was already more fun than screwing with the timing on traffic lights at rush hour. “Nice place,” he said, crunching obnoxiously loudly on the candy. “Come here often?”

“Every year,” the man said, walking easily over the wet grass, ignoring the rain that had soaked through his light white clothing. He lifted a hand to brush back hair that was just long enough to get into his blue eyes. “I took a year off during college to study here.” He glanced at Gabriel curiously, adding, “I don’t see you as the type to meditate.”

“Vows of silence aren’t exactly my style,” Gabriel admitted, making the paper stick vanish with a thought as he finished the candy. He wondered if Misha would notice that not one drop of rain had darkened his jacket and considered remedying that, but thought better of it. He probably _would_ notice. More fun this way.

It _was_ peaceful though, he had to give it that. He found himself walking a little more lightly without really thinking about it, the way people lowered their voices in the vastness of stately libraries and cathedrals. Huh.

“Hiding me away?” he added with a smirk as he trailed the human across the grass.

Misha let out a low, quiet laugh, looking back fearlessly. “There’s nothing tranquil about you, Gabriel.”

“Oh, stop.” Gabriel waved a hand at Misha, rolling his eyes with a self-deprecating smile edged with a little wickedness.

That earned him an appreciative grin and a little nod, conceding the point. But Misha changed directions abruptly, asking, “It was Jared, wasn’t it? This wasn’t about Sam at all.”

“I have no _idea_ what you mean,” Gabriel answered immediately, neatly hiding the speculative flicker before it reached his eyes. This kid _was_ sharp. It had been awhile since he’d needed to watch his step with a human. “What would make you say that? I didn’t _know_ Jared.”

This much _smarts_ in a human was kinda refreshing, in a way. If it didn’t turn on him.

Misha threw one quick glance his way before looking out at the scenery. The monastery was low in the mountains, surrounding them with lush green walls of growth, topped with stone and distant views of higher snowy peaks. It was worth admiring, but Gabriel knew when someone was avoiding looking at _him_.

Misha looked over at Gabriel again, not quite smirking. “You didn’t have to, though. That’s why you worded the spell the way you did.”

Castiel had this _way_ \- Misha was pretty adept at capturing it for a human - of just going _still_ when he needed to process something. Castiel’s stillness was nothing compared to Gabriel’s. Even the raindrops seemed to slow for a handful of heartbeats - actually they _had_ \- as Gabriel turned slowly to regard Misha with a slowly-raised brow.

“What a fascinating observation. On the wording of the spell. Please,” he waved a hand and the frozen moment was dispelled. “Go on. Brainstorm away.”

“Does that have an effect on weather outside the local area?” Misha asked curiously, looking up at the sky. “Or do you... negate or contain it?”

Gabriel just beamed in non-answer. Hell if _he_ knew. It was rain; he could tie it into knots and make it into candy ribbons if he wanted to. But he had to preserve the mystery somehow, especially with this one.

Rather than being upset, Misha grinned and took a deep, contented breath, looking down at his bare feet in the wet grass as though getting comfortable in the middle of the field. “‘For the benefit of both worlds’, wasn’t it?”

“Well? It _was_ for the benefit of both worlds. That’s awfully generous for me,” he answered, and wondered if he sounded as borderline-defensive as he thought he might have. “ _And_ it’s working,” he added for good measure. “For both worlds.”

Really, he _had_ looked in on Jared, just to make sure things were okay. To anyone who didn’t know him, Dean still seemed the same, barking orders, overprotective of the car, eating all the greasy diner food he could get his hands on. But Gabriel _did_ know him - or he’d watched him often enough that he didn’t think there was a difference - and he’d never even imagined Dean with this much _patience_.

Jared knew a few things - elementary stuff like methods for killing vampires versus ghosts, salting entrances, even drawing devil’s-traps - but there was a lot that had become second-nature to Sam that Jared still needed to learn. Gabriel had wondered how Dean would deal with that, considering how brusque and impatient and short-tempered he’d been when coming up against one of Sam’s shortcomings, but unless it happened in the heat of the moment on a hunt, Dean took time out to explain things, even demonstrate if he could.

Once it had become certain that he was there for keeps, Jared’s interest in hunting became a thirst for all the knowledge he could get. That went a long way in smoothing things over when they did fight; so did the fact that when they got a room with two queens, the other bed got used for storage. He wasn’t the hunter Sam had been, but the two of them together were already shaping into a stronger team than the brothers would have managed.

“It had to be, though, right?” Misha asked, his head tilting _exactly_ like Castiel. “If one of them had said no, it would all have just... ended.”

It was _uncanny_ when Misha did that. And then he made observations like that. It made Gabriel want to dart off and make sure Castiel was still where he’d left him, even though he knew there wasn’t a trace of grace inside the human.

“The inside of your head must have claw-marks on it, the way your brain just scratches around at things,” he said, nibbling speculatively on the inside of his cheek.

“So,” Misha went on, never looking away from Gabriel, barely even blinking, “what did _you_ get out of it? If Castiel wasn’t powerful enough to come here without you, then I doubt he’d have the strength to cast a spell of this magnitude. An archangel, though...”

Another of those frozen moments came and went. Then Gabriel tipped his head to one side, tapping at his chin, pursing his lips, in a parody of indecision. “I _could_ tell you,” he said, “buuut then I’d have to kill you.”

Misha let out a delighted laugh, taking a step closer to Gabriel, extraordinary eyes bright, thinking so fast that Gabriel could almost hear him without even trying. “And since you’re not _here_ \- because let’s face it, you haven’t even stopped by to say hello or meet my wife - you must be _there_. Thus, it’s Jared you wanted over there. Hm?”

“Oh, how inexcusably rude of me.” It was just a placeholder while Gabriel’s mind snapped through answers, some frivolous, some dramatic, outright lies, weavings of truth, the truth _itself_ \- strange sensation, that one - and settled.

“Yes. And no.”

“Yes and no,” Misha repeated thoughtfully, looking around the field. He abruptly started walking again, heading toward a stone that had been left in the middle of the tall grass. “Then it was a matter of Sam _not_ being there - which could have affected any number of people - or your brother,” he said, glancing back in Gabriel’s direction. “Am I closer?” he asked, turning to sit in the grass at the base of the rock, rather than on the rock itself, leaning back against it.

Gabriel watched as Misha settled himself in the grass with the ease of practice, then turned to look out at the view. He hadn’t paid much attention to it since arriving, and considering the deceptive simplicity of the question, now seemed like a good time to let silence be golden for awhile.

He was closer. A lot closer. Gabriel wasn’t _entirely_ sure how he felt about that. Misha Collins hadn’t exactly factored in when he’d come up with this ingenious method of putting a Jared-shaped cork in the Apocalypse.

"Sam _not_ being there, Jared _being_ there... it was so long ago. Who's counting?" he asked dismissively, even though Misha was, obviously. “Bigger and better things, look forward not back, et cetera.”

“Because five months is an eternity to you,” Misha said dryly, looking up at Gabriel through his lashes. He pushed his wet hair back again, rolling his shoulders to stretch his back. “Why Sam, though? Why not Dean?”

Gabriel snorted. “Have you _met_ Dean?” Then he paused. “Okay, technically I guess you haven’t met Dean. But still, you _know_ Dean. How do you think _he’d_ react to being told he needed ‘more intensity,’ or anything else a director might tell him? There’s the end of your show, right there. And how long do you think Sam and Jensen would have kept hunting before they gave it up and leaped back into respectable society? A week?” Gabriel shrugged and stated the obvious. “Dean Winchester is _Dean Winchester_ , right to the bone.”

Another human might have said something to fill the silence that stretched out a good fifteen or twenty seconds. Misha just stared up at Gabriel, head tilted slightly in a comfortingly non-Castiel way, completely fine with the rain pouring down over him and the mud that was forming in the grass where he sat.

“What do you want them to hunt?” he finally chose to ask.

Gabriel leaned a hip against the wet rock, still dry as a bone himself, and extracted a Caramello from the empty air. “What makes you think I care _what_ they hunt?” he asked with an amused smirk. He took a bite, trailing a long string of caramel - that was the best part - and grinned as he waited for the answer that might come quickly or might take a minute or two. He was finding that you never could tell with Misha, and that was fun too.

“Can _you_ picture what Dean Winchester would do to a director who told him he needed ‘more intensity’?” Misha countered immediately, grinning fiendishly.

Gabriel’s wickedly sharp laugh startled a bird from its perch in a tree on the edge of the clearing. “ _All_ too easily,” he answered, “and at the same time, not at _all_. I won’t lie, it was _tempting_ to find out for sure.” But that hadn’t been the point of the exercise, so Gabriel had refrained from indulging himself and some nameless, innocent director was spared the Wrath of Dean.

“And yet, you chose to bring Jared there - which means _that_ was the stronger motivation,” Misha said, all but pouncing, the instant Gabriel fell silent. “So, why? Was it to hunt ‘more effectively’ with Dean or for some other reason?”

Gabriel snorted again and reached down to tousle Misha’s hair - which ended up being more of a squelch than a tousle. He wiped his hand absently on his jacket and the dark streaks faded immediately as it dried itself.

“What difference does it make?” he asked suddenly, turning an intent look right back at the human. The Trickster was gone now, hidden in the depths of the Archangel. “ _Why_... do you want to know?”

“It’s who I am,” he said simply, still looking up expectantly, ignoring the hair that was now dripping over his face.

“You know you’re about as wet as you can get without actually being in a body of water, right?”

Misha looked down at himself, then back up at Gabriel, his expression almost disappointed. “That’s the best you can do?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Then everything stopped.

 _Stopped_.

Movie-magic bullet-time, 3-D frozen, only this was no post-production editing room. Gravity-shaped teardrops were visible now, tiny misshapen globes that contained the entire world in their skins. There was no silence more absolute than the silence of no-time.

"This isn't the best I can do either, Icarus."

* * *

It was _perfect._

Misha just stared in wonder - fear, yes, but _real wonder_ , like he hadn’t felt... well, obviously since the first time he’d met Gabriel. Oh, Castiel, too, but that had been more professional interest. Castiel had been so nearly human, and Gabriel... so _other._

He knew he was playing with fire, but that was also a part of who he was. He couldn’t resist - not now, even if it burned him, because he refused to spend the rest of his life regretting a string of could-have-beens.

For a moment, he didn’t even dare move, because if the rain was held by an archangel’s power, then it was a prison conforming to his skin. Trying to stand could tear him apart, if those raindrops didn’t get out of his way. So he instead turned one hand slowly, experimentally, ready to stop him if the rain didn’t yield before his admittedly fragile, mortal skin.

The drops parted at the hesitant touch, bursting and rolling down as though their path had never been arrested in the first place. He might even leave a Misha-shaped trail of empty air if he got up and walked.

“It’s beautiful,” he said in absolute honesty.

One brow rose with a trace of the imperiousness that characterized every archangel, even the prodigal. “I was going for ‘terrible’ or ‘awesome to behold,’ but I suppose they’re interchangeable. Human language has never been the most flexible. You _might_ want to get up and move around a little, by the way. Not too much breeze around right now. Fresh air might be hard to come by without migrating.”

A thousand questions came to mind, about how he was breathing at all - or moving, if the air wasn’t - but he let them go, for now. He’d ask next time, or the time after that, because he was _determined_ to find a way to coax Gabriel into coming back again.

He rose, feeling just a little stiffness from sitting on the grass, though the air at this low altitude was pleasantly warm even in the rain. Feeling each drop burst individually on his skin was indescribable; he wondered how he was going to explain this to Vicky, or if he even should. (Of course, he _would_ , but he’d probably end getting yelled at for even letting things go this far with the archangel, given that he obviously had a temper.)

Which reminded him...

He looked back at Gabriel, who had introduced himself as ‘Loki’, thinking that this wasn’t a Loki-style thing to do at all, unless Gabriel was planning on _leaving_ him here in this no-time. Hadn’t that happened in one book he’d read, ages ago, as a punishment to someone who’d offended a god?

“Probably. We touchy bastards can be _real_ creative.”

It took an instant for him to realize Gabriel was reading his thoughts - which made perfect sense, but he _hadn’t_ to this point. Misha was positive he’d caught Gabriel flat-footed at least twice so far.

Well. This just made it _more_ interesting.

He inhaled (and yes, the air was fresh and clean) and looked at Gabriel, trying to get a read on his expression. There was that otherworldly sense about him, but Misha thought he was at least getting a feel for the edges of his expressions and personality - at least enough that he was willing to keep pushing, carefully.

“But that’s not why you did this,” he said, raising a hand, drawing a line of emptiness through the rain, watching how the water reacted and clung to his skin, slipping off to hang motionless in the air, displaced from its original location. “And it _is_ beautiful,” he insisted, looking at Gabriel.

“I never said it wasn’t.” Gabriel walked forward, and the water _slid_ over him like rain along a windshield, trailing off his back and trembling back into stillness. Gabriel did not leave any path. “You’re right. I didn’t do it because I’m a touchy, creative bastard. I did it because it was _easy_.”

 _Now_ Misha felt a touch of fear, and with it, a surge of adrenaline through his blood, reminding him that this was pretty high up on the list of stupid things he’d ever done in his life. But... could-have-been still wasn’t his style, and he’d long ago decided that he’d pursue his goals, no matter what. And so far, it had paid off beyond anything he’d ever dreamed, from every job he’d ever wanted to the wife he loved more than anything... and now, to this.

“‘Easy’ doesn’t seem to be your style,” he said quietly as the answer for this display came to him in a rush. “This is you marking _the world_. Making it yours. Because this wasn’t _your_ world before, was it? No demons, no monsters... no angels.”

Gabriel tipped his head back, ignoring the droplets of water that slid, unbroken, against his cheek. The silence lasted eleven of Misha’s heartbeats. “Why would I need another whole world?” he asked, but there was more curiosity than flippancy in the question. Not much more, but it was still there.

Misha sighed, disappointed that Gabriel thought him incapable of realizing an answer so obvious. Instead of saying it, though, he thought about something else - something that had evoked a sense of wonder in him _almost_ on the scale of this (admittedly awesome and terrible to behold) time-stop moment... the absurd thought that he had a self-proclaimed army of _minions_ out there.

And he imagined every one of them wearing a T-shirt, maybe in a tasteful shade of bright aqua, with a chalk angel sketched on the front and, in lovely Comic Sans font, “Church of Gabriel” written underneath.

“You think of me as a Comic Sans guy? I feel like I should be hurt.” Gabriel shrugged, showcasing the accuracy of the writers again as he copied their mannerisms for the Trickster off-balance: hands shoved into his pockets, vaguely bored expression, inconsequential topics. The Norse gods were a little more _earthy_ than your average angel; clearly it had rubbed off. “I dunno, something more like Century Gothic has cleaner lines if we’re making T-shirts. Or just go straight-up Impact. _I_ do.”

“I have no budget for a graphic artist,” Misha said, remembering to move through the suspended drops of rain, never looking away from Gabriel. He didn’t step closer - he wasn’t quite _that_ stupid - but he moved sideways a step, never away. The grass felt strange under his feet; he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. “Or did you want to pose for photographs, for the sake of realism? _Can_ you be photographed? Your true form, I mean?” he asked, suddenly interested in the concept. Sure, the film might catch fire, but there had to be some way - some sort of filter - that would at least get something of Gabriel’s true form in a manner that he could see.

“What makes you think we haven’t been?”

“So you’ve visited here before?” Misha pressed intently. “Or... have your brothers?”

“You _like_ talking about my brothers,” Gabriel mused in the kind of mild tone that hides something less innocuous underneath. “Why is that, Icarus?”

Misha shrugged - not in answer, but because the question, at least in his mind, wasn’t important. “Then let this be _your_ world, if that’s what you want. They can’t find you if you don’t want to be found, can they?”

***

The concept of “personal space” was one that Castiel struggled with. Gabriel, of course, had no trouble with the idea, but sometimes it was useful to take a leaf out of his little brother’s book and be a bit _less_ human. He didn’t move through the space, he just _was_ , exactly eleven inches from Misha’s dripping face; startled, the human flinched back, one foot stepping back, shifting his weight, though he didn’t quite complete the step. The hovering raindrops between them reflected and distorted and magnified both faces until they were laughing and screaming in dozens of tiny silences.

“Funny,” he said in a low voice that didn’t sound funny at all, “I didn’t realize this world was yours to give away.”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ want it?” Misha asked, his voice fairly calm, except for a tremor that most observers would have missed. Gabriel could hear his accelerated heartbeat and breathing, and saw the fear in his eyes, but still, he was... well, if not standing his ground, at least holding it.

Honey-brown eyes pinned Misha’s in place for a handful of those rapid heartbeats, and then the corner of Gabriel’s lips quirked in an amused smile. “You’re good,” he said, nodding in either approval or agreement with his own statement. “You’re real good. Sharp enough to cut yourself. But c’mon, kiddo. What would I _do_ with this much free rein? Or should that be reign?” he mused to himself as he stepped to the side, wandering vaguely around the tenser human.

“You want me to stick around, huh? Not the reaction I usually get.” Not an entirely unwelcome one either, considering. And it _was_ tempting to stay here, where there was _no one_ : no squabbling brothers... no bloodthirsty, sullen adopted family. No competition. Not just Park Place and Boardwalk, but everything else, too, including all the railroads.

Misha didn’t turn; he just watched Gabriel walk around him, shifting his weight to get comfortable again. His heart slowed, normalizing faster than Gabriel had expected, though various natural fight-or-flight chemicals were still surging through his bloodstream. “Of course, I do,” he said, and it _sounded_ , both from his voice and his surface thoughts, that he was being honest.

“‘Of course’, nothing,” Gabriel answered, tossing a skeptical expression Misha’s way. “There’s no such thing as ‘of course’. You do. So, I have to ask: why _is_ that? You _want_ to inflict me on your pristine world? I thought you _liked_ the planet, Misha. You two having a fight?”

But he was _genuinely_ intrigued. He wasn’t exactly anyone’s first choice for a supernatural being to invite in.

To his surprise, Misha actually stepped closer, head tilting, voice lowering - not in register but in volume. “Have you _seen_ this world, Gabriel?” he asked sharply. “If any world could use you, it’s _this_ one. All the complacency, the self-righteousness, the whining for privilege and ignoring people who genuinely _need_ help... It’s stagnating. Maybe everything you know - angels, demons, monsters - maybe they’re the radiation that causes mutations that eventually become evolution. Maybe that’s what we need to remember how to _live_ again.”

“...Your mind works in some _interesting_ little corkscrews,” Gabriel replied after a few moments of startled silence, reaching out to poke Misha’s forehead - not to knock him out, or skip him back or forward in time, or any of the other things angels usually did, but just to confirm to himself that he was actually _there_. “So, what, you want to play angel-Chernobyl, starring Gabriel as the cloud of radioactivity? Not sure that’s gonna look as good on the T-shirts.”

“Do I need to wait for season 5? I know they signed Richard on for at least one more guest appearance,” Misha said dryly. “Gabriel, even I know you don’t leave Heaven and take on the Trickster role because you _hate_ it. Look at this world. If you don’t see _anything_ for you to do, then I’ll go back to my room, get my phone, call Vicky, and ask her to make you a nice lunch before you go back home.”

“Do I get lunch if I stay, too, or do I need to save your world from itself first?” Gabriel shook his head slightly, though it wasn’t clear what it was he was gesturing at. “I’m no savior. That’s never been my role. And I’ve already reinvented myself once; not in much of a mood to do it again. Especially since the villains are more fun to play than the heroes anyway, and I’m _already_ a villain,” he added, feeling a quick seethe of bitterness at the role he’d picked because he hadn’t looked for an alternative.

Misha frowned, taking another step forward, looking at the hanging drops of rain for a moment. Then he brushed his hand through the air, clearing the space between them, looking into Gabriel’s eyes calmly, without any hesitation at all. “Are you the villain? Is that how you see yourself?”

Gabriel didn’t move back, although the way he shifted his weight and his eyes tracked Misha’s hand as it cleared the air suggested he wanted to and wasn’t about to let himself. He rolled his eyes and didn’t even snap his fingers to make a rectangular paper nametag appear on his jacket: edged in red, written in Sharpie: **Hello, my name is THE TRICKSTER.**

“Exactly,” Misha said, as if that somehow was a sign of _agreement_. He smirked at the nametag before his eyes snapped back to Gabriel’s, the smirk still playing on his lips. “When was the last time you went around, oh, eating babies and slaughtering virgins and doing whatever it is villains do?”

“Hey, the Seventies were a crazy time for a lot of people,” he quipped

But no, when Misha put it like that, it had been _awhile_ since he’d really engaged in many things that could be called _villainous_. _Tricks_ , yeah, of course, how could he _not_ sour people’s milk overnight - still a classic - and hide car keys and cell phones, and cause traffic gridlock, and emails accidentally _Reply All_ ’d? It was fun. And it wasn’t angelic, which he liked, but it wasn’t all that _evil_ either. He’d found a middle ground, and he’d stayed there, simultaneously the leader of the pack and flying under the radar.

“ _Fine_ , so I’m no Snidely Whiplash,” he said with an exasperated overdramatic sigh, tipping his head back and tossing his arms up in surrender. “I’ve got a rep, you know. No one’s even supposed to _know_ about my little witness protection setup.”

Misha cut in the instant he paused for a breath. “It doesn’t get much more ‘witness protection’ than _another universe_. Or is this another dimension?” he asked, doing that Cas-head-tilt thing.

“Okay, _you_ -” Gabriel reached out and put a hand on Misha’s head - carefully; he didn’t want to hurt him - and urged his head straight again. “-need to stop doing that,” he finished. “It’s creepy. I keep wanting to run back and make sure Cas is still where I left him. Second, what is _with_ you and appropriate terminology? Didn’t we already go over how inadequate human languages are?”

That was too good a point. Gabriel wanted to think on that one for awhile. He wondered what the odds were that Misha would let him.

“I have to know what to put on the ‘welcome to the _blank_ ’ cards, don’t I?” he threw right back. “If nothing else, the minions will ask, once they find out - and they always do.”

“Oh, _well_ , you didn’t say there was going to be a _party_. ‘Welcome to the universe’ seems like something _really_ ambitious new parents would write and I’m sure she’s a lovely woman, but I’m not sure I’m ready for Vicky to be my mom. ‘Dimension’ it is.”

“If Vicky’s your mom, then that makes me your father, and no amount of money in the _world_ will get me to spank you.”

“Oh, I worked out _ages_ ago that you have other motivators besides money. Give me a _little_ credit. You’ll just need to come up with some other creative method of keeping me in line.” Gabriel shot him a toothy, innocent smile. “Good luck with that, Pops.”

Misha let out a delighted laugh, shoving his hair back, and waved a hand to gesture at the rain. “Start this back up again and meet my in my room, then. Do you know how to use a laptop?”

“It’s _still_ the 21st century where I’m from. I’m even on Facebook.” Gabriel held up a hand and snapped and sound _rushed_ back in as the world began turning again. He still wasn’t getting wet.

“Perfect. I’ll give you Richard’s email address - you’ll need to talk to him, of course. And then I’ll introduce you to the most important part of the internet, at least for you.”

“Looking forward to _that_ conversation.” It had been years since he’d startled anyone as much as he sensed he was going to be startling Richard. “Which little slice of the internet pie is going to become my new favorite dessert?”

“Twitter. Getting your new gospel to the masses in a hundred and forty characters or less,” Misha said, throwing an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “Trust me - you won’t believe how effective it is.”


End file.
